


the end of the line

by Skyuni123



Series: Avengers Endgame Fics (unconnected vignettes from a world gone weird) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate History, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Flashbacks, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slow Burn, This shiz is romantic yalllllllllllll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: inside of swanning off into the sunset with peggy carter, steve chooses a different path.-endgame and beyond, from bucky's point of view.





	the end of the line

“Don’t do anything stupid before I see you again.” Steve says and pulls him close for a moment, hugging him tightly with both arms. The embrace isn’t new, isn’t a shade of the intimacy they’ve shared in the past, but it feels final. 

 

Weighty. 

 

There’s so many things Bucky could say, but really, if Steve doesn’t know by now, he never will. “Same to you.”

 

Steve nods at Sam and steps up onto the pad. He kneels, Mjolnir held at the ready. 

 

And with a press of a few buttons with his giant hands, Bruce powers the machine up. “He’ll be back in five seconds, for us. For him…” The rest is left unsaid.

 

Steve disappears in a flash of light.

 

Five.

 

Four.

 

Bucky’s training has always taught him to keep everything inside. He’s never had to look vulnerable, never wanted to show weakness. Wakanda’s helped him move past that, a little, but it just… doesn’t feel right feeling the seconds tick away and hearing his heart pound in his head.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

And Steve doesn’t reappear.

 

He’d expected it, almost could have made a wager on the fact, but it stings. There’s one person in the world that Steve would move heaven and earth for, and it’s not him.

 

It might have been, once. 

 

But Steve’s had his chance. Made his choice. They all need to move on. 

 

Banner’s still fiddling about with the controls. Sam is looking panicked, worried almost, asking Bruce questions that he doesn’t have the answers too.

 

Bucky sighs, and says, “Stop.”

 

Banner looks down at him with something like panic. Sam eyes him, just for a moment, but then relaxes.

 

“He could be trapped in the quantum realm.” Bruce says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

 

Bucky shakes his head. Why use any more words when one would do? “No.”

 

“Man.” Sam slumps back against a tree. “Just like that, huh. You’d really think he would have left a note or-”

 

“Evening, fellas!” A chipper voice says, from somewhere behind Bruce. “Are any of you expecting mail?”

 

The three of them rush to the man. Bucky has to squeeze past Bruce to be able to get a good look.

 

The postman is older, to the point where it’s a little ridiculous. He’s got the stories of a thousand universes hidden in his wrinkles, and is wearing a flat peaked cap and glasses. He’s also just managing to hold onto a large flat package, with two letters balanced on top.

 

“...that son of a bitch.” Sam says, slowly, laughter in his voice. “ _ Back to the Future  _ and all. Captain America. What a guy.”

 

“ _ Back to the Future  _ is  _ really  _ not an accurate way of describing time travel,” Bruce says, and it’s clear that he’s said the same thing time and time again, “It’s more of a-”

 

“Who are they addressed to?” Bucky interrupts, before the two start squabbling again. 

 

“Well, this one is for a Samuel Elizabeth Wilson?” The postman shoulders the package and hands it over to Sam.

 

Bucky, despite everything, snorts. “Elizabeth?”

 

“Your name is  _ Bucky. _ ” Sam says, pointedly. 

 

Bucky’s really got nothing to say to that. 

 

“You’re looking well, Dr Banner.” The postman hands over the larger letter to Bruce, who tears one edge open gently with a couple of fingers.

 

“And Bucky Barnes.” The postman smiles at him, gently, and says, “Good to see you on the road to recovery, son.” He passes the final letter to Bucky. It’s roughly hewn, made of a paper that he’s not seen for quite a few years. 

 

“Thank you.” Bucky replies, and cradles it gently in his palms. “Who sent you?”

 

“I think you know.” The postman doffs his cap at them all, and trudges off into the forest away from them.

 

“We really should scan these first…” Bruce starts, but Sam’s already tearing into his package.

 

Bucky follows suit, peeling back one edge of the stiff envelope with a fingernail. He’s about to pull the card from the envelope, when-

 

“Oh my God…” Sam breathes, and pulls Captain America’s shield from the package. “He’s- No way.” 

 

Bucky ducks around Sam’s shoulder to read the card he’s let fall to the ground. There, in Steve’s scribbly, but not unreadable handwriting -  _ It’s yours now. Use it well. _

 

Quite a lot happens after that. 

 

Sam takes a little while to come to terms with the fact that he’s been gifted the mantle of Captain America, so Bucky doesn’t read his letter until he’s gotten back to their apartment. 

 

There’s a slight tremor in his hands, an air of trepidation that he’s not felt in a very long time. He pulls a card from the envelope.

 

_ The end of the line. _

_ I’ll be here whenever you need me. _

 

Well, for fuck’s sake, isn’t that cryptic?

  
  


Two years, three continents, six cargo ships and one detour to Peru, and Bucky’s not quite found his absolution yet. He’s not running, not really, but ...travelling. Making up for times and people lost. 

 

He keeps his hair tied back these days. It’s a little recognisable long, and the metal arm doesn’t help. Though, the world is a lot different now. More aliens, strangers, people who don’t quite resemble the humans he’s used to.

 

It’s a welcome change. Not many people know him in this new world.

 

Sam is doing well, taking on the mantle of Captain America and saving lives all across the world. He leads the new Avengers, now, all out to save the world they nearly lost.

 

Bucky’s just… travelling.

 

That’s all. 

 

He’s not searching for anything. 

_ He wakes alone in the dark some nights and swears he can hear shelling outside the window, firefights and dust thrown up into his lungs making him cough.  And breathe. And sigh. And flip the pillow over to the cool side. _

 

_ The bed always feels a little too soft. _

 

Bucky finds volunteer work in Kathmandu with the WHO, helping with disaster relief. The world is very big these days, and full of strife and horror.

 

It’s a little like the war, sometimes, but only barely.

 

It’s the world that wants to kill them all this time, and maybe they should let it.

 

Regardless, he supposes that he should make an effort to help fix things. Maybe that’s a ghost of Steve, as always, wanting him to be better, or maybe he’s just got nothing better to do.

  
  


_ The horrors only seem to come out at night time. The things he’s seen, the things he’s  _ done _ , waking recovery is one thing, but the subconscious is quite another. _

 

_ He wonders if he’ll ever see Steve again.  _

 

Being an ex-superpowered assassin is one thing, but he’s sick to his stomach with some kind of medicine-resistant flu and barely manages to stumble back to his makeshift cabin without falling over. 

 

He’s dripping with sweat, throat raw, and can hardly see through the tears in his eyes.

 

In the delusional haze, he dreams.

  
  


_ A dry summer’s day. 1937. _

 

_ Steve can’t swim in the lake, not with his asthma being what it is, so he settles alongside the water with his sketchbook and draws the birds in the trees, the loose edges of the waves in the lake, and Bucky- _

 

_ \- who is more than happy to float about in the water and lose himself in the muted warmth of the sunlight on his skin. _

 

_ “Hey, Buck?” Steve calls, just after Bucky comes up for air, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. “Do you wanna pose for me?” _

 

_ There’s an edge to this that some might call queer, or a whole handful of alternatives that are far less polite, but Bucky’s not ever going to say no. “Sure thing, Stevie.” He hauls himself out of the water and onto the pier, flopping about like a dead fish for a few moments until he finds a stable position on his side and poses coquettishly.  _

 

_ “You going to draw me like a pin-up, Steve?” Bucky says, with a rakish grin that has a little too much sincerity about it. A sharp gust of wind blows through and then they’re- _

_ In the muck of a trench, sometime during the War. It’s been raining all night.  _

 

_ Steve runs hot these days, to the point of inhumanity. He doesn’t feel the cold.  _

 

_ Bucky runs his hands over the element of the primus, trying to get some of the chill out of his fingers. It is bitterly, brutally cold, and he doesn’t like it. War is hell and the cold is worse. _

 

_ “Do you want warm fingers now or tea in the morning, Buck?” Steve asks, voice a low hum. In the distance, there’s explosions, but around them, most of the soldiers are sleeping.  _

 

_ “How much trouble am going to be in if I say warm fingers?”  _

 

_ Steve just rolls his eyes and turns off the stove. _

 

_ What little heat remaining in Bucky’s extremities ebbs away almost immediately. Good. He’s going to die of frostbite in a trench in Europe. Fantastic. He shoots Steve a mulish look, which Steve immediately notices.  _

 

_ “Don’t pout like that.” Steve says, and settles back against the trench wall, pulling his gloves off. He doesn’t seem cold  _ at all.

 

_ It’s very unfair. _

 

_ “Pass your hands.”  _

 

_ “Do you want them amputated or frostbitten?” Bucky replies, snarky as per, but his heart’s not really in it. It’s very cold. _

 

_ Steve, in lieu of answering, just grabs his hands and wraps his fingers around them, gripping tight.  _

 

_ The warmth is immediate and fantastic. The contact is too. They’re very close.  _

 

_ “You really were freezing, huh.” Steve says, and somehow his voice is warm too. _

 

_ A shell cracks somewhere nearby and they’re- _

  
  


_ On the side of a train in the Alps.  _

_ There’s no hope, really. They’re going too fast. _

 

_ “Bucky, grab my hand!” _

 

_ And he can’t. _

 

_ It’s just flashes, most of it - _

 

_ delirium and aching pain that invades his body and throttles most of it  _

 

_ Death, too much death, and sleeping the future away in a dark box that hurts his head. _

 

_ But then he’s on the edge of a crashing sky ship and he sees a man in blue fall away from him into the water below and he just - knows - sees - understands - all within the fabric of his being that he needs to save him. _

 

_ The past is the present is the future and they’re always linked. Together, apart, drawing them closer and closer throughout history  -  _

 

_ his body wracked with chills fighting off the infection _

 

_ \- and he breaks the surface on the crest of a wave and - _

 

Wakes.

 

“Only you would nearly die of a cold.” Steve snarks, from the the corner of the cabin. He’s sitting in the darkness, face obscured.

 

“How did you find me?” Because, the thing is, he’s not even really surprised.

 

“A man with a metal arm shows up in a remote town?” Steve replies, and shuffles out of the darkness. He’s bearded, slightly, and has lost some of his Captain America sheen.

 

Bucky thinks it’s the best look in the world.

 

“You weren’t exactly doing your best to remain inconspicuous.”

 

“Where have you been, Steve?” Bucky replies, suddenly exhausted. He scratches at his face, estimates probably two or three days of unconsciousness judging by the beard. “Two years. Really?”

 

“I… retired.” And Steve has the tenacity to look a little embarrassed about it. “I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to come back.”

 

“Thought you’d gone back for Peggy. Gone back to play happy families and all that.” It’s a little snarky, but it’s not out of place for him to ask. Steve and Peggy… they had always been the right pair. They fit together, perfectly. 

 

Who was he to disparage Steve of that? 

 

“I visited her in the 70s.” Steve says, and comes to sit on the bed across from him. He looks tired, too, but there’s earnestness in his eyes, a certain energy. “When I was returning the stones. Found out her address, went by her house and everything, and she was…  _ happy.  _ Married, successful, everything I’d ever wanted for her to have. She’s found her path and I’ve found mine. What kind of person would I be if I took that away from her?”

 

“A normal flawed human being?” Bucky says, but there’s grit in it, because he would never be able to be so objective if it was Steve.

 

“I’ve given up the shield, now, Buck. I’m just Steve.” 

 

“You’ve never been ‘just Steve’.” And ain't that the truth. 

  
  


_ Deep in the heart of the trenches, he’s slowly beginning to feel his fingers again. It’s a slow burn, a slow pulse in his fingertips that beats along with his heart. _

 

_ “Once the War is over, Stevie, you could market yourself as a personal heater on the public’s dime. The dames would love it.” Bucky quips, drowsily, more than slightly taken by the idea of a vested Steve Rogers acting as a heater for the cold winter folk. _

 

_ “Once the War is over, Buck, I’m going back to being just Steve. No titles, no accolades, just me.”  _

 

_ Exhaustion loosens his tongue in a way that’s dangerous for the moment they’re in. “You’ve never been ‘just Steve’ to me.”  _

 

_ He mourns the loss of contact almost immediately, but he understands it all the same. _

  
  


“When everyone was… lost…” Steve begins, and settles back against the wall at the top of the bed, “I ran this support group. For people we’d lost. There was this man, Harvey, who’d gone out on a first date with another man. They’d barely gotten through their meals when they both started crying, because they couldn’t bear the thought of a world without the people who’d been taken from them. And you know what I said?”

 

“...what?” Bucky replies, voice hardly louder than a whisper. 

 

“I don’t know, I fed him some empty platitudes about how we all survived for a reason and we all need to find ways to move on- but I never believed it. I lost Peggy  _ years  _ ago, Buck, and I just- I spent five years beating myself up for losing you.” 

 

And Steve looks at him, so earnest and honest and on the verge of tears that it just  _ hurts _ , because their story is just so old, and so ongoing, and Bucky’s never ever going to see it come to a head. 

 

“Well, it’s a good thing you managed to save the universe and bring us all back then,” Bucky snarks, but really, there’s no heat in it. There’s a lump in his throat, which is very possibly the flu, but it feels… anxious. More real. “We had a good thing going back then, Stevie.”

 

He’s not even sure what ‘back then’ he’s referring to. “I’d just… like you to stay around this time. Please.” 

 

“Why do you think I retired?” And like so many years ago, Steve reaches out and grabs him by the hands, but there’s confidence in it this time. Assurance. A genuine smile amongst the grey.

 

It grounds him and he’s just- “Steve-”

 

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, ever the true gentleman.

 

The fuckass flu gremlin in Bucky’s brain, apparently not content with either a, “Yes,” or a, “No,” just says, a smidge dazedly, “But I have the flu?”

 

“I think I’ll survive.” Steve says, and kisses him.

 

And even though Bucky’s a little bit lightheaded from god-knows how many days of flu delirium, and also likely quite bearded and filthy, it feels pretty damn good.

 

It’s a fitting coda for the end of a story. 

 

And these men deserve privacy for where it goes next. 

**Author's Note:**

> SEE HOW EASY REPRESENTATION IS, MARVEL?
> 
> give me endgame prompts on my [ tumblr ](http://eph-em-era.tumblr.com)


End file.
